The Asylum

Chapter 2

"This is where you'll be working," Claire says, motioning to a small room in the corner of the hallway we are in. Inside, toiletries are scattered on top of small tables in tall piles, messy, yet organized in a way. It confuses me, but also makes me feel safe, surrounded by these high piles, as if nothing can penetrate them. There is a small desk in the back with noticeably more toiletries stacked on it than anywhere else in the room. A little paper sign similar to the one in Mr. Green's office reads Supplies Manager.

"You'll be in charge of bringing needed supplies to specific wards, which you'll hear from that speaker." As she says this, she points to a little speaker sitting neatly buried underneath tampons and towels, as if it's hiding from the seeker in a game of Hide-and-Seek. "Try to be hasty," she continues. "Many patients aren't potty trained."

I turn to her at this, and she gives me a little smirk. "Unless you're needed, you may be called to help with troublesome patients," she continues. "Until then, you may organize the items. Pants with pants, bathroom supplies with bathroom supplies, and so on."

I nod, and she gives me a knowing smile. She turns to leave, but before she steps out of the shadow of the doorway, she pauses.

"And some advice?" she says mysteriously, her chin hovering above her shoulder. She doesn't look at me, instead staring at the polished tiled floor as if there's a ghost there.

"Try to stay away from Ward 76."

And with that, she closes the door abruptly.

The room stills.

I stare at the door for a moment, briefly bewildered by her sudden exit, then turn to the endless mountains of toiletries that loom before me.

Well, I think. I'd better get started.

As I reach for another towel, laying it flat on my lap to fold it diagonally, I wonder again about what Claire had said to me.

Try to stay away from Ward 76. Why would she tell me that? Is the person in Ward 76 more insane than the others? Violent, even? I haven't spent much time with the mentally ill, like most people, but I'd imagine they all have a quirk that you would most likely wish to stay away from.

So what makes this patient different?

I think I would rather not know.

Just as I'm finishing the towel in my lap and moving on to another one, the speaker buzzes on my desk. At first there is only static, so I lean forward slightly to listen better, causing the table corner to dig into my hip . Finally, the incoherent noise assembles itself, like puzzle pieces piecing together, and I can finally make it out into words.

A voice I can't recognize says, "Amy? Are you there? Are you able to hear me?"

I press my pointer finger to the button on the side of the speaker, and it in turn pushes against my finger tip, making it a temporary fleshy white. "I can hear you. What do you need?"

From the way they respond, I can tell they're smiling. "Ah, nice to hear from you. My name's Josh, and I'm currently at Ward 74. Could you bring us some towels? My patient just spilled his juice."

I take hold of a few towels and grip them tightly in my hand, as if they're sponges I'm trying to ring out.

My first job.

Beaming confidently, I answer, "I'll be right there."

Josh thanks me, and then cuts out. As I walk to the door and open it outwardly, I can't help but think that Ward 74 is only two wards away from Ward 76.